


In Your Eyes

by clgfanfic



Category: Soldier of Fortune Inc.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story uses the fan story "Incentive," a tag to the episode "Broken Play," as the jumping off point for this story.  In "Incentive," Chance tells Matt Shepherd that he gave the enemy information on their identities after they threaten to rape an unconscious Margo.  Matt replies that they all would have done the same, whether it was Margo, or even one of the other male members of the team.  In my mind, this got Chance to thinking…</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Don't Ask, Don't Tell #3 and later in One in Ten #6 under the pen name Casey Squire.

I guess you'd have to say that our relationship had… humble beginnings.  But it grew into something that went far beyond sex.  In fact, we ended up life partners.  But in the beginning I'll admit it was more about the pleasure he gave me… just for a little while.  He can really grow on you, if you let him.

Let me back up a little and explain.

The Major accepted an assignment that took us to Bosnia.  "Broken Play" doesn't even begin to describe what happened to all of us in that hellhole.  The Major, Benny Ray and C.J. were really in the thick of it, playing hide and seek with regular Serb forces up in the hills.

To hear C.J. tell it, he was a complete basket case.  Benny Ray and the Major are a little more forgiving, but the point is, C.J. didn’t handle himself as well as he thought he should have.  And I guess when you get down to it, he could've done better, but we all have our moments – times when we just can't pull our weight like we should, for one reason or another.  And, in this case, it would be up to C.J. to explain himself.  He had his reasons, and that was all I needed to know.  All any of us needed to know.  All except C.J. that is.

So keep in mind that C.J. was feeling a little guilty, and I was the only one, well, the only one besides Margo, who hadn't been there to see what he thought of as his failure.  Margo and I had gone into Banja Luka to meet with one of her contacts, a real gem of humanity – Vlady Spazek.  I really can't get into the details, but I will say that Spazek and his lieutenant, Andre, a real Aryan poster child, did a hell of a number on me.

Andre used a pipe to take me down, then he and a couple of his clones conducted an "interrogation".  When we finally got out of there, I had bruises all over my chest and back, bruised ribs and kidneys, and what the doctor called a mild concussion.

Personally, I think it was just a bad headache, but I can honestly say I was sore as hell from head to hips for a couple of weeks after that op.

And that brings me back to my story.  Since Benny Ray and I were in pretty sad shape, the Major gave us a couple of weeks off after we got back from Bosnia.  I spent the first few days in the hospital, then a couple more at the Silver Star – so Matt could keep an eye on me and decide for himself that I was going to be all right.  But once the Major cut me loose, I made my peace with him – another story – then headed for my place in Santa Ana so I could get in some work on the German and catch up on my reading.

I guess I should say that I don't mind being alone.  It's still something of a novelty to me.  I grew up with my sisters, and way too many nieces, nephews, and cousins to keep track of.  Typical urban projects childhood, I guess.  Typical in Philly, anyway.  And I went straight from the projects to the Army.  So privacy was something I'd learned to value.  I guess that's why I didn't look for a place closer to Hermosa Beach.  When I went "home" I wanted to get away from everything.

I was at the loft, out at the airfield, enjoying the mild weather, fine tuning my baby, and spending the evenings with the books that had been sitting on my nightstand for a few months.  It was nice.  But I was starting to get… lonely.

No.  That's not the right word.

Horny.  That's a lot closer to the truth.  See, I enjoy sex.  I _really_ enjoy it.  So if I go a few days without it, I get… antsy, I guess.  And I'd been almost two weeks without a date.

So I was at that antsy point the day C.J. dropped by.  To be completely honest, I was jerking off in the shower when I heard the buzzer ring.  The surprise that someone was there was enough to put an end to my fun, but at least I was able to grab a towel and get to the door without embarrassing myself.

To say I was amazed to find C.J. standing outside the hanger would be putting it mildly.  And he was holding a bottle of whisky.  That scared me.

He held the bottle out and I took it.  "What's this for?" I asked him.

"So I don't drink it," was his simple reply.  But he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Thanks," I said, my heart starting to beat a little faster.  Something serious was up.  "You want to come in?"  Then he looked up at me and I saw the dark circles under his eyes.  He hadn't shaved in a day or two, either.

"You don't mind?" he asked.  "This a bad time?" he asked, nodding at the towel.

"Of course I don't mind, and it's not a bad time," I replied.  "Come on, I was just about to fix something for supper.  You hungry?"

He thought a moment, his expression telling me he hadn't even thought about food for a while, then nodded.

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding and smiled.  "Great," I told him, "I was starting to go a little stir crazy out here by myself."

He nodded, but there was no smile, nothing, as he walked in.  He followed me across the hanger to the stairs that lead up to the enclosed loft that I called home when I wasn't staying at the Silver Star.  Once inside the loft, he headed straight for the living room sofa and dropped down with a tired sigh.

"Why don't you see what's on TV while I get dressed and get something started?"

All I heard was a soft grunt as I turned, but a moment later I was listening  to the evening news while I dressed.  The next order of business was to stick the whisky in with what little alcohol I had – well out of sight at the back of the pantry – then I rummaged through the freezer.  I found some lasagna, enough for two, and took it out.  Quick and easy with the microwave to do all the work.  I stuck it in and started the machine.  While the microwave did its work, I crossed to the coffee machine and made a pot.  When it was done, I poured two cups, added cream to mine, then carried both into the living room.

C.J. looked up at me, his eyes haunted, and I wondered what was bothering him.  What had brought him all the way out there?  I handed him the coffee and sat down, wincing as I did.

"You okay?" he asked, immediately leaning forward.

I nodded and waved it off.  "Just sore," I told him.  "Was working on the German earlier.  Probably should've stopped a couple of hours sooner than I did."

He nodded, still watching me like he was trying to decide if I was telling him the truth.  I was.  This was the worst I'd felt in a couple of days.  Definitely overdid it.

"How are _you_ doing?" I asked, although I didn't really expect an answer.  I just wanted to shift the focus off of me.

He sat back, cradling the cup in both hands.  They were trembling slightly.  Then he shrugged.  "Not sure yet."

That was more honest than I'd expected.  "The Major chew your butt?"

C.J. shook his head, then said, "But he should."

I leaned back in my favorite recliner and watched him as I said, "I don’t think so."

"You weren't there," he replied, his gaze still on the steaming surface of the coffee he hadn't tried yet.  "You didn't see–"  He stopped abruptly and shook his head.

"Look, C.J.," I said, my voice pitched in what I hoped was a sympathetic tone, "I heard what happened.  No one's blaming you.  We all have ghosts that haunt us, get in the way sometimes, but–"

"I could've gotten us all killed out there," C.J. said, his voice a harsh whisper.  "Have you seen Benny Ray's chest?  The fact that he's alive, no thanks to me, is some kind of miracle."

"And, well, I could've gotten Margo and I both killed, too," I said.  That got his attention, just like I knew it would.  He looked up.  I didn't really want to tell him about this, but I also wanted him to understand that he wasn't the only one who could make mistakes.  "I didn't like the whole setup.  And Spazek… man…"  I shook my head.  "The man was pure slimeball.  And I let it get to me.  Just had to open my mouth, rub a little salt in their wounds."

C.J. was watching me, listening.  But he wasn't judging me.  And I knew he wouldn't.  So why did he think we'd all judge him?

"Damn near got us both killed."

He sighed heavily.  "You didn't have to tell me that."

"I know," I said.  "But it looked like you needed to hear it.  The point is, we all make mistakes."

He nodded.  "I guess."

I shook my head.  "There's no guessing involved here.  It's part of the human condition."

He snorted softly.  "One hell of a condition."

We heard the microwave bell.  "Come on," I said.  "Let's eat."

He stood and followed me into the kitchen, carrying his coffee with him.  I pulled the lasagna out and let it sit on the counter to cool while I pulled a bag of salad out of the fridge and filled two bowls.

"Italian okay?" I asked.  It was all I had in the house, so it was a good thing he nodded.

I dumped some of the dressing over the salads, then dished up the lasagna on a plate and grabbed some silverware.  We ate at the kitchen counter.  C.J. was pretty quiet, talking a little about his brother and what had happened to them back in '91.

I wasn't sure what it was about our trip into Bosnia that tapped his memories of being a prisoner in Libya, but it was clear that Danny was one ghost C.J. wasn't going to shake all that easily.

After we finished, I rinsed the dishes and C.J. put them in the dishwasher.  Then I made some more coffee and we went back out to the living room.  My muscles were really starting to tighten up and I sucked in a sharp breath when I bent over to sit down.

"Didn't they give you something for that?" C.J. asked me.

I nodded.  "Acetaminophen with codeine."

"You taken any?"

"No," I admitted.  I hate the way the codeine makes my head fuzzy.  I can't read when I'm like that.

"Maybe you should," he said.

Since I was more sore than I had been in a few days, I agreed, telling him it was on the counter in the bathroom.  He went and got the bottle and I washed down two pills with my coffee.  Then we talked some more.

There were a couple of times when I felt like I was a priest, hearing a confession, but C.J. needed to talk, and I really didn't mind listening.  Besides, I had a few issues with that op that I needed to work out myself, and listening to him helped me put them into perspective.

I guess we talked for three, maybe four hours.  In any case, it was close to ten when we both yawned.

He grinned at me, saying, "Guess I better go.  Get some sleep, mate."

I nodded and started to stand, but sitting down for a few hours had really locked up my muscles.  I made it about halfway out of my chair before they seized up and I dropped back with a curse.  The muscles in my back and shoulders immediately cramped.

The next thing I knew, C.J. was there, rubbing my shoulders while I auditioned for the role of contortionist at the local freak show.  Man, that hurt!  But his hands were strong and he dug into my knotted muscles, forcing the cramps away.  The pain made my eyes water and when my vision finally cleared, I leaned back with a sign.

"That happen often?" he asked.

"Just a couple of times.  Both in the hospital," I told him.

"What did they do?"

"Gave me a muscle relaxant and more pain meds.  Got both in the bathroom."

He snorted and shook his head.  "Should've had somebody rub the bloody kinks out."

I grinned.  "Yeah, maybe so."

He turned and disappeared for a few moments, then came back.  He held out two more of the pain pills.  I shook my head.  "No, makes me too damned fuzzy."

"You plan on going somewhere?" he asked me.

I thought a moment.  I wasn't planning on going anywhere, except to bed.  "All right," I said, holding out my hand so he could drop the pills into my palm.  I washed them all down with what was left of my cold coffee, then grimaced.

"Come on," he said.  "Let's get you into bed."

I pushed slowly to my feet, not wanting to trigger a repeat performance.  It hurt, bad, but there were no more cramps.  C.J. walked beside me, even up the short flight of stairs to my bedroom.  I made a side trip into the bathroom, then came back out and he helped me sit down on the side of the bed.

When I started to lean over to untie my shoes he reached out and stopped me.  "I'll do it," he said.  I recognized the tone, too.  My mother used one just like it to keep me in line when I was a kid.  I nodded.

He knelt down and untied my laces, then pulled off my shoes.  "You wear the socks to bed?" he asked.

"No."

He tugged them off as well, setting them aside, then stood and helped me pull my tee-shirt off.  That just left my pants.

I rose carefully and unbuttoned my jeans, pulling them down over my hips, then sat back down on the bed.  C.J. took it from there, pulling them over my knees.  I lifted my feet and he tugged them off.  The drugs were making it hard for me to focus.  It felt like I was only half in my body, the other half somehow floating a few feet off the floor.  I hate that feeling, but I knew it meant the drugs were hitting my system and my muscles were relaxing.  At least I hoped they were.  I really didn't want to spend the night dealing with cramps.

I decided I better not tell C.J. that I slept in the raw.  So, with just my briefs on, I managed to get into bed before the next cramp hit and had me writhing under the covers.  If felt like someone was trying to tear the muscles off my shoulder blades.

But C.J. was right there again.  He pulled the covers down, got me over onto my stomach and starting working on me.  It took a couple of minutes, but he stopped the cramps.

"Christ, Chance, you're as tight as a virgin's arse," he muttered.

I grinned into my pillow, still panting.  C.J. can be… colorful.

"Do you have anything?  Ben Gay, something?"

I thought for a moment, the codeine making it hard to focus.  "Some arnica cream.  In the bathroom cabinet."

"Arna-what?" he asked.

"Ar-ni-ca.  It helps muscle aches – small tan jar, white label."

He climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, re-emerging a few seconds later with the jar of cream.  The bed bounced as he climbed back on, kneeling or sitting beside me, I couldn't tell which.  I heard the scrape of the jar lid as he unscrewed it, then he was rubbing the cool cream onto my back.

His hands were strong, and he worked the cream deep into my muscles, forcing the knots to loosen and eventually slip away.  I felt myself really relaxing for the first time since we'd left Bosnia and moaned softly into my pillow.

"Feel good?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied, my eyes too heavy to open.  Between the drugs and what he was doing, I felt like I was floating on some kind of feel-good cloud.  A definite improvement.

I felt the bed shift and a few moments later he was working his way down the backs of  my legs, rubbing more cream in my aching muscles.  I sighed and let the sensations wash over me.

C.J. started talking, softly at first, but then more normally, telling me what he remembered about Bosnia – the paralyzing fear and how it was like his memories of being hunted down in Libya… the sounds of the men screaming in Tripoli as they were tortured that haunted him while he and the Major fled the Serbs… the moment when he considered killing himself in Bosnia… telling Matt about Danny… Benny Ray appearing out of nowhere like some dark angel, chasing off the Serb troops… his shame and guilt over how he'd acted…

It was almost as if his thoughts and feeling were somehow attached to the tension in my muscles, and as he forced out the tension, the words escaped with it.  He worked down my legs to my feet, then back up again, skipping over my ass and finishing off my back, chasing out what was left of the tightness and the ache.

When he started on the back of my neck, he finally fell silent for a few moments, then asked softly, "You still think I just let some ghosts get the better of me?"

"I think you had your reasons, good ones, for what happened.  And no one's going to hold it against you.  Damn, C.J. we're all just human."

He snorted.  "Human."

"Yeah," I said.  "Human – full of faults and imperfections."

That prompted a chuckle.  "You're wrong there, mate," he said, his voice soft, almost teasing.  "What I'm seeing here is perfection."  
          I laughed into the pillow, then moaned when his fingers worked higher, massaging my head.

"What you're doing is perfection," I mumbled.

"Glad you like it," he said.  "Turn over and I'll rub some of this cream into your chest."

I wasn't sure I could do that, roll over, that is, but he helped me with the maneuver.  He started at my feet again, working his way up my legs.  At some point I tried to move them, but I was so relaxed I couldn't do it.  Relaxed and drugged.

He moved to my arms next, working from my fingers to my shoulder on the right and then on the left.  He left them lying limp, straight out from my sides.  I remember thinking that I must look like I was ready to try flying up off the bed.

Then he got to work on my chest.  It hurt a little at first, but as the cream crept into my muscles the pain faded, and then the tension followed.

"You look like a bloody tie-dye T-shirt," C.J. said.

"Techno-color bruises," I agreed with a lopsided grin.

It was when he started rubbing along my lower abdomen that I realized my cock was half-hard.  I was embarrassed, but there was nothing I could do about it.  What he was doing felt good, and that was just a normal reaction to the pleasure.  Still, I felt like I had to say something.

"Uh, sorry about the, uh, reaction."

"What?" he asked.  "Oh.  That.  Don't worry about it, mate," he assured me.  "Just tells me I'm going a good job."

"Very good," I agreed.

He kept working for several more minutes, then said, "I'm going to go wash my hands."

I felt the bed shift as he climbed off, then listened as he padded into the bathroom.  My whole body was tingling, a combination of the cream and the blood he'd raised to the surface with the deep tissue massage.  My cock jumped and I wanted to reach down and squeeze it, but I was just too damned relaxed to move.

Then C.J. was back, rubbing my face.  His touch was gentle, caring and I enjoyed it.  I focused on the way his fingers were moving over my skin.  They were caressing and exploring at the same time.  I couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like if they were touching me in more intimate ways.  My cock throbbed again.

In my mind's eyes I could see C.J. rubbing me, pulling and squeezing.  I fought back a groan.

"That's starting to look painful, mate," he said softly.

"Huh?" I asked, managing to crack one eye open far enough to look at him while he rubbed just in front of my ears.

What I saw was both a surprise and a relief.  He was staring down at my erection, his expression hungry and longing.  I watched him lick his lips and immediately felt my cock jump in response, getting harder as I felt an echoing sensation of his tongue on me.  He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced.

I shifted my attention, lifting my head just a little.  Yep.  He was hard, too.  I could see him straining against his pants, a wet spot on the material giving away his desire.

I relaxed back against the pillow, enjoying it as he drew his thumbs over my jaw.

"Yeah," I said, my voice thick even to my own ears.  "It is a little painful."

"Maybe I could help," he whispered.

I wanted to open my eyes, but I was afraid he'd bolt if I did.  I could hear the fear in his voice, and the tentative hope.

"Help me, C.J.," I replied.

I heard a soft whimper escape his throat and the bed shifted again.  Then my briefs were lifted and pulled down over my legs.  My cock sprang up, free at last from the constraint.

I wasn't sure what to expect.  And I waited a moment to see what he'd do.

"God, Chance," he sighed.  "It's bloody beautiful."

I tried to laugh, but I was too relaxed, so I settled for a smile.  "Help yourself," I told him.

The bed shifted again and then his hand wrapped around my cock and he squeezed gently.  I felt a drop of precome ooze out of my pole and he leaned over and licked it off.  Then, very carefully, he put his lips around the crown of my cock, his tongue swirling over the sensitive skin.

"Oh, yeah," I gasped.

He licked up my long, thick shaft, making me groan, and when he reached the head again, he rolled his tongue around it, nipping gently, feeling the give and take of the red fist of flesh between his teeth and tongue.  It was like magic, making me harder and harder until I thought I was filled with quick-drying cement.

Then he slid his mouth down the full length of my cock, twisting his head until his throat was crammed full, his nose pressed hard against my groin, his chin against my balls.

I gasped and he froze for a moment, waiting to see if I shot my load then and there.  But even in my condition I had better control than that.  I pumped my hips, just slightly, but enough to break the spell.

C.J. sucked me and I started making love to his mouth with slow, deep thrusts.  I felt his throat open, taking whatever I could give him.  My thrusts became faster, picking up a staccato beat.

Then his hand was around my shaft so his fist followed his mouth up and down over my heated skin.  I moaned, getting so rigid it hurt.  I wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer, no matter what my intentions were, and I told him so.

"Give it to me," he urged, his lips capturing my crown again, his hand going for my balls this time, squeezing and pulling.

"Ah," I gasped.  It felt like I was falling into him.  All sense of my body was erased, everything narrowing down to my cock and how it was being sucked and swallowed, his throat muscles pulling me to the edge.  And I jumped.

It was like the rush I get when I dive out of an airplane, free-falling for a few seconds before the chute opens.  Only this time, instead of the jerk of the harness, it was the first jerk as I shot into C.J.'s greedy mouth.

I cried out, my hips bucking as I sprayed his throat again and again.  And he kept working on me, forcing more out of me until I felt like I'd been sucked completely dry.  I guess I had been.  I collapsed, panting for breath.  If I thought I was relaxed before, you could have molded me like soft clay right then.  I couldn't move!

C.J. sat back, a look of profound wonder on his face.

"What?" I asked, although I'm sure it came out as a breathless gasp. 

"I can't believe you let me do that," he replied softly, staring at my cock, now soft and very happy.

 

I chuckled softly.  "Let you?" I repeated.  "C.J., I _wanted_ you to do that."

He turned, meeting my gaze.  "Wanted?"

"Wanted," I said again, my eyes never leaving his.  "And I want to return the favor, too," I added.  "But I can't seem to move.  You're good.  Very, very good."

He blushed, and I think that was the moment he captured some part of my heart.  And he kept collecting more bits and pieces until he had the whole thing locked up safe and sound in his pocket.

He grinned and dipped his head, saying, "I don't think you could move if you wanted to, mate."

"Don't count me out just yet," I told him.  "Besides, I've got to make a trip to the head."

He nodded his understanding.  "Let me help you."

It was a good thing he was there, too.  It took both of us to get me on my feet, then he wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me into the bathroom.  I sat down, rolling my shoulders and twisting my neck while I relieved my bladder.  I stayed there for a couple of minutes, feeling the world slowly come back into focus.  And I felt pretty good – no aches, no cramps.

I stood and we went back to the bed.  I sat down on the edge and looked up at him.  "Well," I said, "what are you waiting for?"

His eyes rounded.

"You're still dressed," I told him.

          Another blush and dip of his head, but he pulled off his shirt, then unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off, too.  He must have taken his shoes off before he'd started my massage because he wasn't wearing any.  The socks went right along with the pants.  That just left his briefs, and I could see his cock, filling again – or maybe it had never gone soft – as he hooked his thumbs under the elastic band.

          "Wait," I said.  "Come here."

          I saw him swallow hard, but he moved to stand in front of me.  I reached out, cupping him through the cotton material and felt him swell rapidly.  His eyes closed and his head fell back.  The sound he made was half-whimper, half-moan, and something in it made me realized that he'd wanted this for a while.  But there would be time to talk about that later.

Remember how I was saying earlier that I was horny?  Well, what C.J. had done to me was like a warm-up lap.  I was hot, and, at that point, all I wanted to do was taste him.

I pulled his briefs off, surprised to see that he was already fully hard.  He stepped out of them, but stayed where he was, standing in front of me.  I reached out, my hands on his sides and guided him closer so he was standing between my legs, which were open, my own pole already getting hard again.  I stopped him when his cock was touching my chest.

Leaning forward, I licked one of his nipples.  His head tilted back again and his back arched, driving his cock harder against my chest while I tongued his hard

nubs.  My hands moved over his back, then down to his ass where I kneaded his cheeks, pulling them open from time to time.  He liked that.

I kissed his chest, moving down until I was ready.  Then I grabbed his cock and placed a kiss on the pink crown.  C.J.'s body shook like he'd touched a live wire and pumped out a stream of precome.

"Chance," he breathed, "I gotta sit down."

I grinned and climbed back onto the bed.  "Lie down," I told him.

He crawled onto the bed and lay down on his back.  He looked up at me, his expression scared and hopeful at the same time.

"What do you want?" I asked him.  "What turns you on?"

I watched him swallow hard again, but he was able to say "Anything."

I was buzzing – the pain gone, my cock throbbing.  "Anything?" I repeated.

He nodded.

"Will you let me love you?" I asked.

His eyes closed as he nodded, another pulse of precome escaping his cock.  "Yeah," he breathed.

I reached for the lube and condoms I keep in my nightstand drawer.  I handed the condom to C.J., saying, "Put it on me."

He tore the packet open and pulled it out, rolling it down over my cock.  Then I squeezed some lube into his hand and waited while he slicked me up.  When he was done I squeezed some on my fingers, then said, "Turn over."

He rolled over and I reached under his hip with one hand and guided him to lift his ass.  He figured out what I wanted and moved into position, his ass up, his knees drawn up.  I rubbed the lube over his waiting pucker, watching him relax under my touch.  When I thought he was loose, I pressed a finger into him.

He groaned and pressed back, sinking me in deeper.  I worked him a little, then added a second finger.  He trembled and gasped.

Pulling my fingers out, I moved in behind him and grabbed his hips, lifting them until he was right at cock-height.  I pressed against him, gently easing inside.  I heard him moan, low and long.

"Easy," I said.  It felt like it had been a while since he'd been with anyone and I didn’t want to hurt him.  I waited while he adjusted to me, then, when I felt the tight ring of muscle relax, I pressed in a little deeper, searching for his prostate.  When I nudged it he jerked, then shoved back on my cock until I was in as deep as I could go.

I knew he wouldn't last long, and to be honest, I knew I wouldn't either.

I started to move, going slow and easy, but he was pumping back, meeting me with harder, faster strokes.  I picked up the pace, matching him.

C.J. moaned.  He was open, needy.

"Stop," I gasped.  "C.J."

It took him a few thrusts, but he stopped.  "What?"

"I want you to turn over."

"Chance!"

"Turn over," I told him again.  "I don't want to fuck you.  I want to make love."

He jerked, looking back over his shoulder.

"Please," I finished.

He nodded.

I pulled out and waited until he rolled over.  When I entered him the second time, I was able to push all the way in.  He sighed and closed his eyes.

          Leaning forward, I kissed him.  His eyes opened, then closed again as our tongues danced.  I started to move, sliding in and out of him, picking up speed to stay ahead of his movements.

          He matched me move for move, a low moan building into a near cry.  Knowing he was close, I reached down with one hand and squeezed his balls.  He pumped faster, impaling himself over and over.  Precome poured over his cock and I used it, jerking him in time with my hips.

          "Chance," he gasped.

          "I know," I said.  "Let go."

          "No," he groaned, his head rolling from side to side.

          I knew he wanted it to last longer, hell, forever, but I could feel my own load rising.  I pulled harder, faster, ramming into him at the same time.  Then I was slipping over, shooting into the condom.  I growled, pumping into him until the last shot.

          He was twitching, jerking, fighting the inevitable.  I pulled out, went down on him, sucking him deep.  As soon as my mouth closed over him he was crying out and coming, shooting thick streams down my throat.

          When I had sucked him dry, he collapsed, gulping in deep breaths.  I lay down next to him, my hand rubbing lightly over his sweat-slick chest.

          C.J. moaned softly and looked at me.  "Why?" he asked in a breathless whisper.

          I grinned down at him.  "Because I wanted to.  Because I haven't seen that look on someone's face in a long, long time."

          "What look?" he asked.

          "Love," I replied, leaning over to kiss him again.  When I let him come up for air I asked, "Am I wrong?"

          "No," was the soft reply.  "Not wrong."

          "I didn't think so."  I pulled the covers up over us, then snuggled next to him.  "And you are staying."

          "I am, am I?"

          "Hmm," I said, my hand going back to his chest.  The last thing I heard was his voice.

          "As long as you want me," he said quietly.


End file.
